Sunday, November 18, 2007

Geriatric Beatdown: When Liver Spots and Dentures Go Bad.

I'm back from Missouri ya'll. I apologize for my lack of blogging all week, I was knee deep in homemade gravy, homemade chili, homemade stuffing, and (not so homemade) SONIC chili cheese tots,(mmmmm...tots.) that rendered me incapable of typing or doing anything of any value to society. Although I did have an urge to stop by the local Wal-Mart and pick up a cheese log to wash down my deer jerky but that would have required getting up and out of the house and honestly, I wasn't up for the "brown girl" staring extravaganza that always happens at that place .

I went to Wal-Mart once to go get some toys for the munchkin for the flight back home and at first no one looked at me. "AH!" I thought, "They're getting used to short brown people who share their love for gravy. Fabulous." And hold on to your seats, I even saw a "Latin Foods" aisle there! (although I do think that by "latin foods" they mean tamales in a can. burf.)
I felt accepted, embraced and for once, I didn't feel as if a lynching was just around the corner.
It didn't last long. As soon as viking hubby walked close enough to me to indicate that he was somehow or another associated with the brown girl in a romantic sense (ewww)...the staring began. Not so much by the young folk (thank you MTV) but more from the geriatric community. When viking hubby held my hand, I felt them all collectively shudder and gnash their dentures in dismay as Maria from West Side Story reminded me to "Stick To Your Own Kind" in my head.

I've had quite a run in with old grumpy bastards this past week. First, the ones at Wal-Mart, who weren't that bad because when I caught them staring at me, I smiled ever so sweetly as if to say, "I'm not going to rob you old person and yes, I am indeed a legal alien" and they had enough manners to muster up a fake smile.

I've discovered that the worst kind of old person is the kind that fly on planes.

They're grumpy to begin with and it only gets worse when they have to bend their creaky backs over to take off their orthopedic shoes and grumble about what a waste of time it is since it's obvious they're not a terrorist because they don't have "towels" on their heads. (swear I heard an old fart say that shit.) I was ahead of one wrinkly biznatch in the security line, putting my shoes back on, putting a toddler's shoes back and trying to gather my car seat and two carry on bags BY MYSELF. (viking hubby drove to Mizzo..long story about not being able to take his huntin' guns on the plane...yeeha).

The old bitch behind me gave a very loud exasperated sigh. Mind you, I wasn't in her way at all, there was room on either side to get through, but I assumed she might break a hip if she needed to make any sudden movements to the left or right. So being a nice polite respect your elders type gal I am, I smiled at her and kind of edged over to let her diapered ass through. Apparently it wasn't enough for the old hag because she sighed again when she had to step slightly to the right to get past my daughter.

I guess when the grim reaper is breathing down you're neck it's understandable why she was in such a rush. That comment marinated on my tongue but I kept it in.
Yes I know. I'm an oak.

Well....okay, I'm more like particle board because as you can imagine, I could not hold my tongue for long.

You would think that my munchkin, the infant in front of me and the triplets in the back would have been the nuisances on the plane. But NAY, yet again the bitching came from those who reek of Ben Gay. Constant complaining about where their drinks were, how it was too hot, too cold, my hip broke again, my teeth fell out, I pooped myself, blah blah blah...

My patience finally broke when we got off the plane and again, being a respectable traveler that I am, I usually wait to be the last one off when I'm with the munchkin because I have a bulky item (the munchkin's seat) and the munchkin tends to be a "casual walker" and feels no need to walk fast when there's airplane peanuts under the seat she can pick up and examine. So I'm there, letting everyone through and surprise, surprise a person of the wrinkly variety stops right by me and doesn't say a word.

"Oh no, go ahead sir."


"SIR! (thinking maybe the hairs in his ears somehow short circuited his hearing aid) can go ahead."

"No, go."

Ah the manners on this one was impeccable.

So I thought, fuck it, suit yourself.

Not A SECOND into maneuvering myself and the munchkin into the aisle, I hear the exasperated sigh and the particle board snapped.

Since I'm all class. I won't go into all the gruesome details of my "Why I Hate Old Fucks Like You," airplane speech (and seriously I can't remember most of what I said because I was so mad/tired), but I will tell you that I gave him a quick tutorial on how one can take a big can of Ensure and shove it up one's ass.



Tug said...

Wal-Mart sucks.

Sonic ROCKS. (cherry cream slush? NUM.MERS.)

I refuse to get old.

But am seriously getting more patient in my 'OMG YOU'RE A GRANDMA' old age. ;-)

Welcome back! said...

Glad you're back home safely and that we don't have to have a collection to get your pretty midget ass out of the pokey for attempted murder of an annoying geezer.

I want to hear about the family. The family who eats deer jerky.

Karen said...

I fear becoming the geezer.

You should've tripped the sigher in the security line, she so deserved it.

I'm glad you're back...did the Viking hubby kill anything?

The cheese log from Wal Mart is great for the deer sausage, deer salami, deer fucking pastrami...I hate deer meat.

Shannon Bieger said...

LOL did you really tell him off? Did he keel over on the spot?

More importantly, are you kidding me that Brad drove to Missouri so he could take his hunting guns? Are hunting guns not a sharing kind of thing....he couldn't have borrowed one from his Dad or anything? LOL is that like a cardinal sin of hunting?

Well, welcome home brown girl. I hope you brought home some souvenir gravy! = P

Elaine said...

tug: OMG You're a grandma??? hahaha! just kidding!

jali: the viking hubby's family is awesome. I might talk smack about the people who stare at Wal Mart but Brad's family has never ever made me feel anything but welcome in their family.

karen: I think becoming a grumpy old geezer is a choice. I think some old folks feel like it's their right to be grumpy BECAUSE their old and it's almost expected. I don't know. but they piss me off that's for sure. Oh and hubby did get a deer and seriously, I thought I would not like deer meat either but it all depends on how you cook it obviously and my husband is not a trophy hunter, he doesn't hunt "big bucks" for the "big rack" (which usually has horrible tasting meat). He hunts strictly for meat and most of the time, the best meat is on the female deer not the male.

shannon: yes, yes I did. Our flight was delayed by an hour. Maddy thank god was a dream on the plane but hearing the old farts around me grumble and complain all the live long day was soo annoying and that guy finally just made me snap.

Brad could EASILY borrow his dad's gun but I don't know, it's a male ego penis thing. He wants to shoot it with his own gun. But mostly he drives so he can take the deer meat back. (He makes it there in 27 hours too..the crazy ass sleeps like an hour or two in the car and drives straight through.)

Yo Momma said...

OH and Shannon, the old guy just had a surprised look on his face and then he said something about his left arm feeling numb, so I don't know what that was about. Just kidding!
He just kind of looked scared and confused and I heard a few laughs in the back after I finished my tirade and stomped off.

Madonna said...

Welcome back... Happy Thanksgiving!

I do agree that being a grumpy old geezer is a choice. That is why I choose not to be grumpy or a geezer - though I am old. :P

I guess staring isn't exclusive to Southern California, though. Kudos for handling it with more patience than I would've had.

Karen said...

It's true deer meat does depend a lot on age, sex and what they've been eating. My brother is the only hunter in the family and he tends to bring home young bucks. It doesn't seem to matter what you do to the meat though. Well, more for the rest while I dine on PB&J.

My geezer days lie ahead; I plan on drinking gin, eating chocolate, grabbing young tight man bottoms and cackling a lot. I'll be old, but I'll be RREEAAAALLLL happy too. LOL